New York, March 10.
Dear Mother—
A day or two ago I found out that the Alta people meant to publish my letters in book form in San Francisco—also that they refuse to let me use them in my book. Neither suits me. My publishers want me to write the book all over new, & not [mind ] the what the Alta does—but that won’t do. Consequently I have packed my trunk this afternoon, & sail for California to-morrow, to return in June. Good-bye, & good luck. I am in a great hurry.
Saw Mrs. Duncan last night. She said the Captain had gone to Cleveland.1
I am so glad of an excuse to go to sea again, even for three weeks.
My mother will be grieved—but I must go. If the a Alta’s book were to come out with those wretched, slangy letters unrevised, I should be utterly ruined.
I shall write you from California. And although I am just now “out of luck,” I know that I shall be all the more kindly remembered by the forgiving mother of an erratic “cub.”
Always Respectfully &
Affectionately
Sam L.
Clemens
Occidental Hotel,
San Francisco.2
Explanatory Notes | Textual Commentary
Source text(s):
Previous publication:
L2, 202–203; MTMF, 23–24.
Provenance:see Huntington Library, p. 512.
Emendations and textual notes:
mind • mind | mind [corrected miswriting]